


Wicks. Pinions. Burns.

by RayShippouUchiha



Series: The Components of Construction [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Drabble Collection, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Hurt Tony, Other, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8496217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: Dedicated to AU drabbles/shorts/mini-fics that do not fit into the canon timeline of the universe built in "The Limitations of Wax".





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this will mainly be a collection of AU prompts/ask fills that do not fit into the timeline/universe of LoW.
> 
> Most if not all will come from my tumblr but I'll be polishing them up a bit and posting them here for neatness sake and for the non-Tumblr crowd so they don't miss out.
> 
> Also knowledge of The Limitations of Wax is highly recommended before going forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted/Filled on Tumblr and now converted to mini-fic.

Maria wakes up, body sore and head  _pounding_.

Her mind's a blur, she’s confused, can’t remember what’s happened.

The last thing she can remember is that she was in the town-car.  She was on the way to the gala, Jarvis was driving and ...

“H-How-ard.”  Maria moans his name out as she tries to shift her body around because he'd been with her too.  He'd been in the back of the car with her.  She's _sure_ of it.

Head fuzzy and eyesight fading in and out no matter how hard she tries to focus, Maria finally manages to turn towards her right after a too long struggle.

A scream catches in her throat, gets trapped behind her teeth and swallowed abruptly.

In the seat beside her is Howard.

Face bloody and mangled, skin peppered with glass and tailored tuxedo rumpled, he’s so obviously dead that for a long second Maria can barely _breathe_.

Her next instinct is to get away, to get far away from the horror that’s settled so close to her.

She goes to reach for the car door but the shock of pain that comes with moving her arm stops her cold.

A cold sweat dampening her brow, Maria manages to shift enough that she can just see out of the car’s windshield.

The pain's too much though and her vision wavers.

Black closes in around the edges and the last thing she sees is Jarvis.

He’s sprawled across the ground in front of the car, body twisted like a broken doll, and Maria _knows_ he’s gone too.

The pain take her a few seconds later and the world around her goes black.

But, right before she passes out, Maria swears she hears the sound of a motorcycle getting fainter in the distance.

But she’ll never exactly be sure.

~~~

Maria doesn’t come to again until she’s already in the hospital.

She’s covered in cuts and bruises with a snapped collar bone and her newly widowed status weighing her down.

On the brighter side her hospital room is plush and luxurious, the finest available she’s sure.  She is, after all, a Stark.

But it’s also _empty_.

Honestly Maria wasn’t excepting anything else.

Instead of dwelling on the issue she closes her eyes and lets the pain medication drag her back under again.

~~~

When she’s finally released it’s into the care of a rather handsome private nurse and the youngest house maid Henrietta.  The girl wrings her hands and frets as they guide Maria into the back of a town-car and take her home.

For the first time in weeks Maria finally gives a passing thought to Natasha.

She doesn’t dwell though.

The girl had stayed behind that night, she wasn’t in the car with them and someone would have told Maria if she was dead as well somehow.

She’ll be _fine_.

But then, of course, she always seems to be fine in one way or another no matter how hard Howard tries to put her down.

‘ _Besides,_ ’ Maria can’t help but think with a bitter little curl of her expertly painted mouth, ‘ _Howard’s dead now after all so by all accounts she should be thrilled_.’

Maria aches a bit at the thought of her dead husband, at the thought of the brilliant man he’d been when they were both younger.

Before bitterness and drink had stolen them both away from themselves.

The ache only lasts for a moment though before painkillers and apathy steal it away.  Maria doesn’t linger over the thought, wouldn’t even if she could.  The Howard she’d once loved has been dead for  _years_  now, just like the Maria she’d once been has.

Maria won’t cry over spilled scotch and shattered crystal.

Over a young, brilliant woman’s naive dreams of a dashing genius and a life lived in luxury and love.

Tears would be … _unseemly_.

~~~

Maria only sees Natasha again for the first time days later.

It’s been months since she’s seen the girl and now that she finally has she finds a certain sort of irony at the fact that it’s Howard’s funeral that brings them together again.

A funeral that, Maria knows all too well, could have so easily included her own.

Natasha stands beside her, a perfectly composed statue clad in a black designer dress paired with large shades that cover a good portion of her face.

 _‘She really is a lovely little thing,’_ Maria can’t help but think as she flicks her attention between Natasha and watching the casket be lowered into the ground.

Natasha’s all fine workmanship, a tiny and delicately crafted creature.  She’s from quality stock of course so it’s to be expected to a degree.  Still she’s undeniably a cut above many of the other daughters the society wives like to try and thrust in Maria’s face on a regular basis.

It’s easy to see the promise of true beauty already blooming across Natasha’s face and figure.  Even with that horribly wild hair of hers she’ll be a thing to be envied before long.

For many she already is.

Maria gives herself a mental shake and turns her attention back to what really matters.

It wouldn’t do to look too distant or too calm today of all days.

Properly expressed mourning is an art form after all and Maria has long since learned to give the press what they want.

~~~

Maria doesn’t go to Jarvis’ funeral the next day even though she’d known Edwin for years.  He’d been loyal to Howard long before they’d ever met and had remained a steadfast presence in the mansion over the years.

She will miss his quiet competence in a distant sort of way.

She is there though when Margaret and a black boy she doesn’t know come bustling into the mansion.  But it’s not either of them that really catch her attention.

It’s, yet again, Natasha.

Which, in and of itself, is strange since it’s the second time in as many days and Maria’s gone months before without thinking of the girl.

What captures her attention is the fact that Natasha is _asleep_.

She’s dressed in a crimson sun dress Maria’s never seen before and curled up against the boy’s chest, her face tucked into the crook of his neck.  She looks _comfortable_ , is curled into the arms that hold her with so much trust that Maria’s taken aback despite herself.

She hasn’t seen Natasha sleep in  _years_  now she realizes faintly.

Has, honestly, never cared to.

She’d washed her hands of the girl’s care years ago, she hadn’t been what either of them had wanted in a child in more ways than one.  They’d wanted a _son_ , a little boy with Howard’s genius and her poise.  Someone to mold and shape, to push forward and watch with pride as he excelled.

A _proper_ heir to the Stark legacy, a future for the name.

Instead they’d gotten _her_.  A daughter, half mad from the cradle.  Loud and intense in a way no child should ever be.  Rough and unrefined and almost frighteningly brilliant on top of all of that.

Not at all what either of them had wanted.

So Maria had left her rearing to Jarvis and her general discipline to Howard.  Howard who’d had a _far_ heavier hand than even she’d ever suspected but … well it hadn’t _truly_ been any of her concern.

For a moment there’s a wistful sort of _ache_ in her chest at the sight of the girl, at this glimpse of the child that she’s never had much use for looking so unguarded and _small_.

For a split second Maria can’t help but wonder what life would have been like if she’d had the son she and Howard had wanted.  Would she have loved him?  Would Howard have?  Would she have cared more than she can bring herself to care for Natasha?

Maria doesn’t know.

At this point she doesn’t  _want_  to know.

So she ignores Margaret’s disapproving glare and tightly pursed lips.  Doesn’t even bother to really acknowledge either her obvious displeasure or the tense look on the boy’s face.

Instead she just arches a brow at the whole lot of them before she turns on her heel and sweeps back up the stairs and into her rooms with as much grace as she can manage.

~~~

Life for Maria is … _strange_ after that.

There’s no Howard to deal with for one.

As freshly widowed as she is, positive press for SI is no longer her concern.  A mourning period is considered acceptable after all, is expected even.

Also it's likely that the stress of maintaining SI's positive image will never be hers to bear again either.  The girl will get the company in a few years whether she can handle it or not.  Plus, until then, Obadiah has control so Maria need not stress about the issue.

So, in the end, after a suitable mourning period Maria goes about her life as she always has.  She goes from spa to gala to event to resort just as she had before the accident, just as she has for years now.

The one difference is that she starts a charitable foundation.  She names it the _Maria Stark Foundation_ and dedicates it to educating underprivileged children and the like so that she’ll have something respectable to be seen passing her time with.

It’s works for the most part even if it feels a bit empty.

But then, Maria’s been empty for years now.

Numb to the core.

~~~

Time passes and Maria watches distantly as Natasha continues to grow.  She keeps an absent eye on the girl from a distance whenever she takes the time to remember to actually _look_.

She watches this changeling child she’s never cared to try and understand graduate from MIT, watches her move away, and watches as she’s blasted across every tabloid and newspaper insight the entire time.

Then she watches as the girl takes the world by storm, that boy at her side and the press at her heels begging for her scraps.

She watches Natasha take up modeling, watches as she flaunts her beauty to the world as she struts down runway after runway, red carpet after red carpet.

Maria laughs off the questions the press ask her when Natasha, or _Toni_ as the world calls her now, is caught up in scandal after scandal.

“Just spreading her wings a bit is all,” Maria tells them all demurely before she moves on to something more important.

Because there’s _always_ something more important. 

She doesn’t worry about Natasha, wouldn’t even if she were so inclined.

The girl’s proven to be rather cat like in the way she always seems to land on her feet.

Maria knows that either she’ll endure the world or she’ll be crushed by it.

It’s the fate of women like them everywhere to choose between the two someday.

Maria knows that she herself had folded beneath the pressure long ago in a lot of different ways.

Maybe Natasha will too.

But then again, maybe she won’t.

Maria doesn’t know the girl well enough to truly decide.

~~~

Twenty-one finally comes for Natasha and the day breaks upon the world like a storm as the eyes of the country turn in her, and Maria’s, directions.

Everyone the world over is anxious to see just what this will mean for Stark Industries.

Maria, with her fortune secure and her life style assured, _doesn’t_ _care_.

Still Maria attends the party of course, mainly because it’s what’s expected of her.  Her fortune and future might be secured but her place in society is always more tenuous.  It must be carefully cultivated, nurtured.

In the spirit of things she even sweeps in and brushes Natasha’s cheek with a kiss for the cameras.  She resolutely ignores the way the girl stiffens at her side.

In the end Natasha’s gone within a half hour after the cake cutting.  Maria’s sure that no one else notices, all too busy with gossip and getting progressively drunker.  So Maria just sips her champagne and says nothing.

Instead she raises her glass in a half mocking toast towards the towering cake with the girl’s name on it.

As of this moment the girl is grown now in all ways and is no longer her problem.

Not that she ever really was in the first place.

But it’s the principle of the matter that counts.

~~~

So Maria watches as Natasha takes SI over and she’s almost not even surprised by the way the girl pushes it higher than Howard ever dreamed of.

There’s always been something so much _more_ about her, so _unsettling_ , that Maria’s sure that there’s very little Natasha could do that would truly surprise her.

In her more sober and nostalgic moments Maria laughs and laughs  _and laughs_  because her and Howard both had so wanted a son to carry the Stark name, a son to help build SI up in the next generation.

Instead they’d gotten _her_.

Instead they’d gotten  _Natasha._  

Natasha who has grown into this feral, seductive creature that Maria knows nothing about.

Natasha who has done all they could have ever dreamed that a son would do and  _more_.

 _God_ they could have never known.

 _No one could have_.

~~~

So, ultimately, Maria just watches.

Watches as Natasha rolls out invention after advancement after breakthrough.

 _Watches as she changes the world_.

~~~

And then, Afghanistan happens.

~~~

Natasha goes missing and Maria feels her heart skip a single, small beat because she never thought she’d outlive a husband and a daughter too.

Rhodes, the black boy who’s stuck by Natasha’s side for so long now, is a half crazed whirlwind as he tears through the desert in search of her.  His obvious desperation and determination are tabloid fuel for three long months even as the media begins to whisper about finally stopping searches.

Maria quietly plans another funeral and waits.

~~~

She’s admittedly surprised to see Natasha come home in the end.

But, again, the girl is so very cat like after all that maybe she shouldn’t have been.

~~~

Maria only goes to see her once afterwards.

She arrives at the mansion Natasha has built in Malibu and is startled to hear a voice that sounds so much like Jarvis greet her once she’s arrived.

The disembodied voice calmly informs her that “Miss will be up momentarily Madam.”

Maria shakes the shock away and roams the living room while she waits.  She runs her hands over the grand piano there and wonders if Natasha still remembers how to play.  The Parisian teacher she’d hired for the girl had been the best after all so hopefully she’d retained _something_ from the lessons even after so long.

Finally Maria hears footsteps, the sharp click of heels on marble and wood, and turns just as Natasha finally comes into the room.

She looks gorgeous despite her ordeal, looks calm and composed and just a shade off truly icy.  The girl’s hair is up as it always seems to be, she’s dressed all in black and her tailored suit hugs her frame lovingly.

Her vibrant blue eyes, however, are narrowed in Maria’s direction.

There is no love in the girl, the  _woman’s_ face, and indeed Maria would be more surprised if there was.

“Maria.”  Natasha greets her lowly but she doesn’t cross the room, doesn’t offer her hands or her cheek for a kiss like Maria’s seen so many other daughters do to their mothers over the years.

“Natasha.” Maria nods back.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Was there a reason you came here?”  Natasha finally breaks the tension.

“I wanted to see you in person.”  Maria admits.  “No one thought you’d make it out of that desert alive you know?”

“I’m sure a lot of people were hoping I wouldn’t too.”  There’s something cold and almost cruel in her face.  Proof of a vicious streak that’s probably always been hiding there, just below the surface.

Maria hums in agreement even as she wonders how far that cruel streak goes.  Wonders if Natasha has a temper like _Howard’s_ or if his fists had beaten her into a new creature altogether.

One thing Maria’s sure of is the fact that she _never_ wants to find out.

“How’s your young man?”  The atmosphere in the room is awkward and Maria finds herself grasping for a subject, unsure of what to speak of with this stranger who shares her blood.  “The black fellow you’re always traipsing about with?”

“He’s  _fine_ ,” Natasha stress the word out through obviously gritted teeth.  “He’ll probably be back before long.”

“Is marriage in the future?”  Maria can’t help the way the corners of her mouth pull down in silent displeasure.  She doesn’t know the man, and she has to admit that the way he’d searched for Natasha is admirable, but she does know that Natasha could still marry _much_ better.  Hell the woman could marry among the higher echelons if she wanted and could take the opportunity to elevate the Stark name even further.  To do otherwise would be such a  _waste_.

“Let’s skip past the part where you pretend like you give a fuck about me Maria and get to the point.”  Natasha grins at her, all teeth and viciousness, and Maria has to bite back a shiver.

“I’ve never been a mother to you.”  Maria’s mouth seems to move on its own but the words are pure truth. 

The laugh Natasha gives her in answer is as vicious as it is beautiful.  It’s a bitter, husky, smoky thing that reminds Maria of silver screens and Hollywood starlets.

“You wanted a son,” Natasha spits out once her laughter fades, eyes cold and tone knowing, “both of you did.   _Believe me, I know_.  It’s not like either of you tried to hide it.”

“Yes.”  Maria agrees because there’s nothing else to say.  They’d both know anything else she could say for the obvious lie it would be.

“You’ve never loved me.”  Natasha throws the words out like a challenge but Maria thinks she can see the questions lurking there anyways.

_Why?_

_Why didn’t/couldn’t you love me?_

_Why?_

“No,” Maria tilts her chin up just a bit as she looks at Natasha across the way.  “I’ve never loved you.”

Maria watches as Natasha closes those too blue eyes for just a moment, squeezes them shut and then snaps them back open.

They’re so cold when Maria looks into them again that she actually shivers this time.

“Leave.”  Natasha tells her softly, almost gently.

Maria does.

There is nothing left to say.

~~~

Time passes.

Eventually she’ll watch from her drawing room as the news shows Natasha, covered in blood and half wild, fighting to be at the side of her Lt. Colonel who lays bleeding on the steps of a Stark funded gala.

Later she’ll watch as a helmet is removed and Natasha is revealed to be the pilot inside of a _suit of armor_.

Later she’ll watch as the _Iron Queen_ is born into the world.

Later she’ll watch Natasha fight and then fight again.

Later she’ll watch Natasha save the  _world_.

Later Maria will stand in her foyer, drink in hand, and she'll laugh and laugh  _and laugh_  as she stares up at the oil painting of her, Howard, and Natasha that she’d commissioned so long ago.

Because  _Captain America_  is alive and Natasha, not Howard, is right by his side.

Because Bucky fucking Barnes is back and it’s at  _Natasha’s_  side he fights.

Because anyone with eyes can tell that they both love Natasha and that Natasha loves them back just as fiercely.

Because now it’s the Age of Heroes and Natasha, the girl they’d both never loved, the girl they’d never cared for, the girl Maria had discarded and Howard had _beaten_ , is one of them.

The  _irony_  is almost too much for her to take.

“She beat you Howard  _darling_ ,” Maria crows as she pulls her arm back and flings her glass hard at the portrait.  Gin soaks the canvas and the paint begins to run as the glass falls to shatter on the marble at her feet.  “ _She beat us both_.”

And goddammit if some small, shriveled part of Maria isn’t almost _proud_ of her.

Or at least she would be if she could bring herself to truly care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howard will be next so that should be fun...


End file.
